(The suit was later settled out of court.)In fairness, it should be said that Clinton’s entourage that weekend also included his daughter, Chelsea, and her boyfriend, Marc Mezvinsky, and no one who was there has adduced the slightest evidence that Clinton’s behavior was anything other than proper.Nor, indeed, is there any proof of post-presidential sexual indiscretions on Clinton’s part, despite a steady stream of tabloid speculation and Internet intimations that the Big Dog might be up to his old tricks.The kiss is totally harmless — there’s nothing sexy about it, which is exactly the point. In “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,” Marla takes Roseanne, who wants to prove how “hip” she is, sister Jackie, and Nancy to a gay bar, and while there, the kiss happens.After the fact, though, Roseanne begins to realize maybe she wasn’t as “cool” as she’d like to be, freaking out about the whole thing.Howth Road starts in Clontarf on Dublin’s northside and meanders through Killester and Raheny before meeting the waterfront opposite Bull Island.Number 621 is situated in Blackbanks in Raheny, just before the road meets the seafront.In other words: a time where aired: there were a lot of gay prostitutes, cross-dressers used as gags (but that’s one been around for awhile), the use of the word “sissy,” and, worst of all, gay characters infected with HIV, like on , on the other hand, had one of its main characters, Nancy Bartlett (played by Sandra Bernhard), come out in the episode “Ladies Choice,” where Nancy tells them she’s dating Mariel Hemingway’s Marla, who would later lock lips with Roseanne. It’s just one of many “Lesbian Kiss Episodes,” which are usually used by writers and networks to garner ratings — not .
There is a partially sunken heated swimming pool in the garden installed for the grandchildren, and lots of mature shrubbery.
Old friends and longtime aides are wringing their hands over Bill Clinton’s post–White House escapades, from the dubious (and secretive) business associations to the media blowups that have bruised his wife’s campaign, to the private-jetting around with a skirt-chasing, scandal-tinged posse.
Some point to Clinton’s medical traumas; others blame sheer selfishness, and the absence of anyone who can say “no.” Exploring Clintonworld, the author asks if the former president will be consumed by his own worst self.
But the real cynosure of the occasion last August was the smiling, snowy-haired man who is the bride at every wedding and the corpse at every funeral he attends, the 42nd president of the United States, Bill Clinton.
He had come to the City of Light with the motley crew that constitutes some of the post-presidential rat pack to celebrate the marriage of Douglas Band, the man who for the last decade has been his personal aide, gatekeeper, enforcer, and—more recently—counselor in the multifarious business, philanthropic, and political dealings that keep Clinton restlessly circling the globe.